Reconstruction
by big tears
Summary: Jareth rebuilds the labyrinth after Sarah defeats it -- a task that takes him five years. Once it's completed, he appears in Miss Williams' apartment to make a rather strange offer.
1. Deconstruction

**A/N:** This is my first _Labyrinth_ fanfiction. If I'm safe in my writing, tell me, please. If I'm not... Oh, well.

**Disclaimer:** This belongs to everyone who made/thought up the movie. I'm just borrowing their characters for (nonprofit) fun.

* * *

When the labyrinth was built, it had a specific design and purpose, although there was only one person on the face of the earth who knew either of those things in the beginning. It was almost simple in its arduous appearance, twists and turns where people least expected them -- not to mention the magic, which had a wonderful combination of effects. The switching of passageways, structural repetition that both confused and frustrated the individual trying to make his way through.

It was marvelous. 

The man who had created it, through drafts and blueprints of all kind, considered it pure genius. He had always leant towards vanity and pride, of course (he could hardly help it, with his family being who they were), but Jareth Tyme had really outdone himself with the construction of his precious labyrinth. It had the ability, as he happily explained to everyone who was willing to listen, to pull apart from itself like a puzzle and be reconstructed into something entirely different. Still a maze, of course. Still without boundaries where levels of perplexity and mental anarchy were concerned. But the architecture, and the course from the entrance to his castle, could be anything in the world. 

Jareth hadn't organized this structure out of necessity, although it might have appeared so. It was not a defense mechanism to keep Fae and other Underground armies away from the Goblin City -- it was merely a small distraction from the somewhat tedious occupation of ruling goblins. They never really did much, as a people. They lacked initiative; there were no rebellions. They were lazy; there wasn't a single attempted assasination. It was very much to his benefit that he had so much free time. 

He didn't know, when he began his little pet project, that it would eventually come in handy -- only to be destroyed by the words of an innocent little girl. 

The truth was, Sarah Williams had been the first person to walk the labyrinth. The first and only person, much to his chagrin... And she defeated it. She defeated _him_, and all because of six little words that had been printed in a silly little book. "You have no power over me" -- what rubbish. He was the Goblin King, eldest Tyme child and held a high position in the Underground Parliament. The mortal girl had no idea what she was dealing with, or what he had tried to do for her. 

His wrath could be swift and terrible. 

But those damned words did something to Jareth, and to his labyrinth. They both imploded, in a way. Pieces and passages of stone flew into all regions of his kingdom. His heart withered, his soul evaporated, and his mind could comprehend nothing but large blue eyes. 

He spent six months contemplating how easily the work of thousands of years had been destroyed, thinking of everything that had been shattered by the presence of a mortal _child_. Her naive manner and idealistic recitations were not supposed to have saved her. She was supposed to be tempted, bend to his will. She was supposed to be his. 

It was just as she had said, in angered tones and words her brother did not understand: "...what no one knew was that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the the girl." 

For some reason, it seemed that everything she said in her stories came to pass.


	2. A Promising Future for Both

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and for their wonderful feedback. I'm really glad to be writing in this category, thanks to your welcoming...ness.

* * *

If there was one thing Sarah Williams had learned in her two years away from home, it was that actresses put a lot of work into their craft. Of course, she knew it would be hard in Boston. She knew it would probably cause insomnia and severe stress, the constant search for a job -- but she wouldn't have it any other way. She wanted to act. She wanted to be center-stage, playing any part (but, preferably, the female lead), making people love her. _People loved Mom,_ she thought to herself, _so I could probably make them love me._

And that was the point in becoming a star, wasn't it? Awards and acclaim and attention? She certainly thought so. All of her employers, her directors thought so. It wasn't a lavish existance, in the beginning, but it was on the way to what she wanted. 

Which was, at this point in her career, an old post office at the very edge of town. Over the years, it had become a small playhouse, inhabited by the Hopes and Dreams Theatre Company -- a small troupe of actors and actresses that put on several of the classics every year. It was quite the beloved thing amongst adult members of the community -- presentations included the plays of Anton Chekhov, Tennessee Williams, and Neil Simon, to name a few. Not to mention that there was actual talent in that ramshackle building. 

She wasn't blind. She could see it, shimmering in the air like rising heat. It entranced the mind and warped the senses, curdling every expectation and causing all logic to wither. It was, although she hated to make the comparison in her newly-found state of adulthood, like magic. 

It made her feel terribly silly to think such things, especially being a twenty-year-old performer. Her kind of person was supposed to drink ridiculously small cups of coffee with enigmatic, foreign men in ancient cafes. She was supposed to be breathing the smell of Ben Nye make-up and drinking the effect of blinding lights -- _not_ dwelling on stupid dreams and fantastic obsessions she'd had at the age of fifteen. 

It just wasn't right. 

She tried to tell herself this as she stood outside the old post office, in a group of more than twenty young artists hoping to become a Hopes and Dreams player. Two printed monologues were held in a shaking hand, the only physical manifestation of her nerves. It wasn't the actual audition that scared her -- it was the fact that her dramatic monologue was from the red, leather book she had been so enamoured with; _The Labyrinth_. 

They had only put flyers out two days before, and it was the only serious thing she knew, at such short notice... But Sarah did not take comfort in her word-for-word knowledge of the lengthy speech. It just made her sick. _You're not a little girl anymore,_ she told herself sternly. _You can't take material from fairytales no one's ever heard of. You can't read the exhausted plight of an innocent girl who doesn't really exist._

A side door opened suddenly, just ahead of everyone that stood in wait of their name being called. A petite, peroxide-blonde stepped out into the sunlight (where her hair became unbelievably white), and checked a clipboard for information on who was to go next. 

"...Sarah Williams?" she said, looking into the crowd. 

* * *

It was done. 

Walls of newly-fashioned gray stone, druid spells carved over pillars, goblin hieroglyphics telling the tale of the Reversal -- of Sarah and her defeat of the first labyrinth. There were stairs leading up, down, and every which way (in memory of the Escher room); hallways were stacked upon hallways, pools of boiling tar twenty feet deep appeared out of thin air. The plants were dead. The former inhabitants were exterminated. Nothing moved, and nothing breathed. 

Not even the wind, which had once been one of the Goblin King's cheif entertainments, was allowed to slip through cracks in mortar and create suspicious noise. 

It wasn't quite so awe-inspiring as the original, but he supposed that was due to the novelty having worn off of the idea. Still, as Jareth gazed down from his tower, contradictory eyes sweeping the landscape, he couldn't help but emit a soft chuckle. The art of architecture had not escaped him, it seemed. Even after so many years. 

In the background, he could hear her reciting that noble little oration -- a version much lengthier than the one she had used five years ago. Perhaps for the sake of saving time? He thought over this for a moment before refocussing his attention to her voice. It had lost a great deal of ferocity and bravado. She was not so angry. A great pity, when he took into consideration all the wonderful troubles her personality had caused her. 

Oh, well. 

If everything went as planned, if this lack of intensity was sincere, she would be with him the next evening at dinner. 


	3. The Reunion

There was once a time when Sarah did not want to be an actress, really. Up until she was eleven years old, she wanted to be a novelist; to write great romances that would be made into movies, and everyone would cry as they came out of the theater. Even the men... But when her parents got divorced, she and her mother had a talk about why it was happening. Linda Williams, a picture of true dramatic skill as a tormented expression played her features, told her daughter how oppressive her husband was to the boundless creativity inside her. 

Sarah was, as anyone might be, very angry. The way it was said, the way it was inferred... her mother was leaving because of the tyrannical atmosphere her father created. And so, she thought she might punish him for it. 

"I want to be an actress," she said, on one of the days that it was just the two of them, smiling very sweetly. "A broadway star, just like Mom." 

She could be cruel, when she felt the need. 

Eventually, all of the lies -- the Christmas presents she asked for but didn't want, the books she read but didn't understand -- began to get to her. She went to the theatre with her friends, she studied the acting guides and plays her father had purchased for her. She began to think about an actual career made up of performing. 

By the age of fifteen, she really _wanted_ to be an actress, for if she was, no one would ever know what she was thinking. They'd never be able to see past the bravado, the deception... And she would never be manipulated or controlled, the way her father had done with her mother.

* * *

Stepping outside, Sarah was overwhelmed with how cold the air had grown in such a short amount of time. She had only been in the theatre for fifteen minutes, and the sky had darkened exceedingly... 

But it _was_ October. 

Purple lightning cracked across gray clouds as she walked towards her car, uncertain of what she was seeing. It felt all too familiar, this odd weather. If only she could place where and when this had happened before -- parts of it were clear. They stuck out in her memory; a dress and a dog, sloping green lawns, rain. 

Large drops began to splatter on the windshield as she made her way back to her apartment. She hummed to herself, briefly considering the state of things: The heat would have to be turned on when she got home -- and then Mrs. Finney would charge her extra rent, which would be bothersome. Especially since she didn't have that much money, to begin with. 

Jareth smiled as the thought crossed her mind, although there was no way Sarah could have known... other than to feel it. And she hadn't felt anything to do with magic in a despairingly long time. 

Which explained her absolute shock as she realized, upon stepping inside, that it was much warmer than she assumed it would be. 

Dripping wet from the few seconds outside, she walked along a short hallway and towards her bedroom, wondering if Mrs. Finney had finally found a bit of generosity inside her ancient heart. Wondering why it felt so nice when, usually, her room was unbearably close to frigid. ...Wondering why she still had a sweater on. 

There was no way she could have known that he was inside with her, and no way she would have believed that the unexpected heat was from his very presence. The Goblin King had quite a lot of things in his power, climate being one of them. 

Sarah discarded her sweater, pulled on the hem of t-shirt she had worn underneath, and was about to look at the thermostat when she noticed the tall shadow lurking by her window. 

She almost screamed. But Jareth, vampiric teeth glimmering in what light there was, caught up with her before she could do so much as blink. 

Standing three feet away with a deadly sort of glow about him, it was all she could do to stop herself from gasping in horror. In the darkness, he appeared to be the man from her dream -- the same dream in which she had wished Toby away, and was forced to run the labyrinth of her stories. 

But he wasn't real... He didn't exist. _And yet, here he is, right in front of you,_ came an amused little whisper. _It's an adolescent fantasy come true._

"Who are you?" 

He laughed gently, a sound that seemed to last forever, and said, "My, Sarah, it has not been that long." 

"Hasn't it?" 

A single strand of blonde hair fell across his forehead. 

"Five years is no great length, to be sure." 

Five years. She was fifteen, five years ago. She was fifteen when she had that awful dream... _Who are you?_ part of her mind was screaming. _Who are you and why are you here?_ But there was a small portion of her mind that recognized him for the magnificent, inhuman being that he was... 

When she didn't reply to his previous comment, the curious stranger took on a rather hurt expression. "Have you forgotten me so soon, Sarah Williams?" 

She said nothing. What was there to say? She was not willing to let herself believe in a fairy king. 

"You read from our story this very afternoon, and yet you cannot recall my name, my title?" 

Her brain was working furiously. _Our story...?_

Silence. 

He took a step closer and bent forward slightly, leaving no space between the tips of their noses. Here, he resumed the playful smirk that had previously occupied his lips. 

"I am deeply offended," 

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to sound it. "I'm sorry... I've never been great with names, Mr. -- Mr..." 

"Please; I am merely Jareth to you, Sarah. You _did_ defeat my labyrinth." 

When she was younger, Sarah had read _Alice in Wonderland_ a great many times and she supposed that this proclamation brought out emotions quite similar to the confusion of falling down a rabbit hole. 

He was not Jareth, as Jareth was a fictional character. Her logical mind knew and understood that fact. And yet... there was no other explanation. His appearance, alone, matched that of her make-believe games. The boots, the breeches, the shirt and the hair were all too close to what she'd imagined... if she'd imagined it, at all. 

"I defeated your labyrinth," she repeated, speaking more to herself than the only other person in the room. This wasn't happening. She was getting sick from the sudden rain -- 

He replied, anyway, in that hauntingly aristocratic accent: "Yes, little Sarah. You're quite the starlet, in my kingdom."

..._Starlet?_

"Kingdom?" she asked instead. "...Is this some kind of twisted joke?"

A single, gloved fingertip slid along her cheekbone.

"Perhaps it is," he intoned, "and perhaps it isn't."


End file.
